


keys to my heart

by orphan_account



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: F/M, Inspired by Music, M/M, Music School!AU, Pianist! Keith, Violinist! Lance, ill update the tags as the story progresses
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-22
Updated: 2016-08-22
Packaged: 2018-08-10 08:03:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7836745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lance’s eyes widen with pleasure before they narrow again. “Well if you play the violin, I’m telling you now, I was the best violinist in all of-“<br/>Keith cuts him off. “I play the piano.”<br/>Lance gapes. “No way,” he whispers, face gone white. “No fucking way. You’re a liar. I don’t have time for fucking liars. I’m out.”</p>
<p>When Keith enrolls in the Altean Royal Conservatory as the only pianist the prestigious school has seen in over a decade, he finds what he expects, and also what he doesn't.</p>
            </blockquote>





	keys to my heart

**Author's Note:**

> I pounded this out in a few hours trying to get rid of writer's block so I could continue klance week which will eventually be finished mark my words. This is my first multi-chaptered fic so hopefully I can actually devise a plot and finish the thing.

The piano is a solo instrument. Sometimes it can be found highlighted by an orchestra, or as the accompaniment to a choir of voices, but for the most part the piano sings on its own, a solitary instrument to contrast the large collections of woodwinds, brasses, and strings. 

And just like his instrument, Keith stands alone, an isolated figure in a world of bands, orchestras, and other music groups.

That’s how it’s always been, that’s how Keith lets himself out: with a tap of his fingers and no one but himself for company and suddenly, he’s flying.

And that is why on his first day at the Altean Royal Conservatory, Keith is overwhelmed. Standing in the middle of the quad, surrounded by students with flute cases strapped onto their backpacks, hefting saxophone cases around, or dragging cello cases along behind them, he feels naked and confined. He pushes past groups of students towards his dormitory, ignoring the whispers behind him. 

“Where’s that guy’s instrument?”

“Does he even have one? What’s he doing here?”

“Could he be a drummer?”

“No, he doesn't have that look on him. But what else could he be?”

“You don’t think…”

“No way, he can’t be.”

“He has that look though. And, he’s Asian.”

“But there hasn’t been a pianist here since Shiro! It’s not possible, Allura hasn’t accepted any pianists since her father died.”

Keith doesn’t know how one guy can attract so much attention, but he has it, just for being at a conservatory without any visible instruments. 

‘Surprise bitches.’

He slips through the crowd and shakes off the whispers, making his way towards the two tall, newly renovated student dormitory buildings. Fumbling around in his pockets, he eventually grasps hold of a folded paper, the one with his dorm assignment. 

“Building A, Room 213,” he reads. Refolding the paper, Keith puts it back in his jacket pocket and splits off to the building on the left. 

Entering the building, he chooses to pass the elevator surrounded by guys waiting to go up, and instead walks up the flight of stairs on the right and heads down the hallway on the second floor. The fresh, new carpet muffles his steps as he walks toward Room 213, admiring how clean and pristine the new dorm looks. He locates Room 213 and is about to stick his key in the lock when an earsplitting screeching noise starts up, followed by some indistinct yelling that can barely pass for singing. 

He twists his mouth into a scowl and cringes, his eardrums vibrating in a way he’s sure will cause damage. 

When he pushes open the door, the sound floods into the hallway, and Keith is met by the sight of a boy facing the wall, sitting slouched on his bed. Without bothering to turn around, the boy yells, “Yo, Hunk, did you finally get your schedule?”

“What the hell is this cacophony?” Keith shouts back at him.

The boy whips around and presses something on his phone, causing the screaming to stop and Keith’s ears to cry in sweet relief. “You’re not Hunk,” he says, eyes narrowing.

“Obviously.”

“Well then who the fuck are you?”

“Who the fuck are you?”

“I asked you first,” the boy says, crossing his arms and glaring at Keith. This kid is real mature, Keith thinks sarcastically. 

Keith groans. “I’m Keith Gyeong,” he says, “and unfortunately I seem to be your roommate.”

“Lance Sanchez,” the boy shoots back. “Unfortunately I seem to be your roommate. Ugh, I thought Hunk was gonna be my roommate. I can't believe I got this loser with terrible taste in music instead.”

“Hah! As if you can call that,” Keith jerks his head toward Lance’s stereo, “music.”

“So what do you like?” Lance sneers at him. 

“Classical. Duh.”

Lance’s eyes widen with pleasure before they narrow again. “Well if you play the violin, I’m telling you now, I was the best violinist in all of-“

Keith cuts him off. “I play the piano.”

Lance gapes. “No way,” he whispers, face gone white. “No fucking way. You’re a liar. I don’t have time for fucking liars. I’m out.”

And with that, Lance stands up, pushes Keith aside, and stalks out the doorway, probably to find his friend Hunk or whatever.

As Lance slams the door behind him, Keith takes a look around the room. One side has already been taken over by various posters and other decorations, and the bed is cluttered with piles of clothes and books. That’s Lance’s side, Keith presumes. The other side is still clean, with boxes sitting at the foot of the bed, yet to be unpacked. Keith slings off his backpack and throws it on the bed. He digs out a book from one of the boxes and slumps against the headboard, flipping through the pages before dropping the book with a groan. His stomach growls ferociously. Food. He needs food. Keith makes sure to lock the door before heading out to explore the campus and hopefully find some grub. 

Later that night before the orientation concert, Keith spots his roommate talking to a tall, bulky guy and a small kid. The tall guy sports a flute, while the small kid is hefting a large baritone. He chuckles at the irony. One of them is probably Hunk, he thinks. He wonders if they’re as annoying as Lance when a large hand on his shoulder interrupts his thoughts. 

“Hey, you’re Keith right? The new pianist?” A smooth, melodious voice asks him, and Keith turns around to see a tall man with a scar across his nose smile at him. He sticks out a large hand for Keith to shake. Keith takes it, feeling the man’s strong grip.

“I’m Takashi Shirogane,” the man introduces himself, “but you can just call me Shiro. I’ll be your piano teacher.”

Keith looks up at Shiro. “Uh, hi.”

“Good luck at the concert tonight. Allura’s told me how good you are,” he says, and is about to leave when Keith stops him. 

“Quick question,” he asks. “How big of an interval can your hands go?” he asks, gesturing to Shiro’s gargantuan hands. 

Shiro smiles at him. “Twelfths,” he says, before turning to go. Keith gawks as he watches Shiro walk toward Allura, the headmistress. No way. Keith’s hands can barely reach a tenth at the most. Shiro must be a genius with Liszt pieces. 

His gaze breaks away from Shiro and settles on the stage. Behind all the chairs and music stand is his piano, tucked away into the folds of the curtains. He takes a minute to admire the shiny lacquer and refurbished keys. Before Keith can fully appraise the piano, however, Allura steps onto stage. All the lights shut off except for those above the stage as her crisp voice heads into the microphone and out from the speakers. 

“Good evening, everyone,” Allura says into a mic. “I’d like to welcome you all to tonight’s orientation concert. All the performers have been working on this during the summer, so I hope you all enjoy.” As she takes her leave, musicians spill onto stage and begin to fill the seats. An orange-haired man with a bushy mustache hops onto the conductor’s podium. He clears his throat and starts the concert with a flick of his baton.

The music flowing from the instruments is a harmony of all kinds of sounds. Keith closes his eyes and lets it wash through his ears. They’re definitely way better than his high school’s band. Keith has to repress a shiver upon remembering the disaster that is his high school’s band. 

Time passes as Keith loses himself in the rich sounds filling the concert hall, entranced. It’s not long enough for him, though, and he snaps back to the present unaware of how much time has passed. The audience’s clapping drowns out the sounds of the musicians marching on or off the stage, and now the orchestra is seated in those neatly arranged rows. Keith spots Lance in first chair. So he wasn’t lying when he said he was the best in whatever he was going to say before Keith cut him off. 

The music starts again, and Keith finds himself falling under its spell again, this time even harder than before. And when all the other instruments fall silent and Lance’s violin is the only one singing mournfully, Keith feels his soul exit his body and fly into the violin. As Lance’s solo rises and falls, so does Keith, bubbling up with extreme joy at the happy sounding parts, and falling into a melancholy mood as the piece modulates into a somber minor key. Lance is good. He’s better than good, he’s amazing. There’s more to Keith’s roommate that meets the eye. 

Suddenly, Lance’s violin is no longer producing sound, and Allura is ushering the students off the stage before taking the microphone. Behind her, the chairs are being taken off stage and the piano is being pushed front and center. 

“Before our pianist comes on stage, I’d like to say a few words,” Allura says, causing the audience and students to gasp. “After the… the…” Allura takes a deep breath to compose herself, “the passing of my late father, I stopped accepting pianists into our school, simply because it was too difficult for me to bear. But when you listen to our new pianist’s performance, I am sure you’ll understand why I made an exception.” Allura clicks the microphone off. She gives Keith a smile and a “good luck, you’ll do great” before he steps onstage, the heels of his dress shoes clicking on the hard laminate of the floor. Pulling the bench out and adjusting the height, Keith rests his right foot on the damper pedal and trails his fingers across those sweet ivory keys, watching for the director’s signal. Upon receiving it, he takes a breath, blows it out, and begins his piece. 

He plays the first phrase, a mere whisper of what’s yet to come, and feel his fingers slowly open like faucets and the music come rushing out. Pressing deep into the keys, Keith pours his heart into each and every note, passion flooding his senses. And then, his fingers are flying, he’s flying, soaring, spiraling into the air, free as an eagle with no ties to the earth. All of Keith’s problems, his worries, his harbored feelings disappear, their insignificance blown away in the face of this moment right now, where the only things that exist are Keith and the piano. Each sound the piano elicits tugs at his heart, and exhilaration courses through his body. And although Keith practiced this song just yesterday, he plays as if he’s greeting the love of his life for the first time in a century. The wild, masterful flurry of notes rises higher and higher, striking every heart in the room and enthralling every mind. But Keith, ever the realist, knows all good things must come to an end. Bringing the notes back to a pianissimo, Keith returns to his original motif, slowing down with a gentle ritardando before softly pressing one last chord into the piano, letting the sound trail away before standing up and bowing to the audience. 

A pregnant silence fills the room, so complete a pin could drop and everyone would hear. Before Keith can worry about his performance, the audience shoots up from their seats and begins a deafening applause. Even the beautiful performances of before did not provoke this much clapping, and Keith feels the corners of his mouth turn up, before his face breaks out into a full-blown grin. He bows twice more with purpose, and then steps offstage. Keith weaves through the audience, shaking hands and accepting compliments with a gracious “thank you”. He’s about to offer his hand to the next person when he comes face to face with a certain annoying roommate.

“Lance!” Keith grins at his roommate, too high on euphoria to remember their afternoon encounter. “Your performance was amazing!”

“And you were okay, too,” Lance smirks, before grinning too. “Oh, who am I kidding? Your performance totally blew mine out of the water, man! Pleased to be your roommate,” Lance says, firmly shaking Keith’s hand.


End file.
